


A Habit of Submission

by SpaceCadetGlow



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Consensual Violence, Dubious Consent, Dysfunctional Relationships, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 16:31:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5171042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceCadetGlow/pseuds/SpaceCadetGlow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After catching HJ with another guy for the first time, Nelly suffers through more than he's comfortable with in a bid to win back HJ's affection.  Warning for consent issues and general fucked-up-ness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Habit of Submission

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Watchmen kinkmeme, which exists in its current iteration here: http://watchmen-km.dreamwidth.org/287.html. If you enjoy this fic, please leave a comment; feedback makes my day!

“Where are you going at this time of night?” Nelson asks innocently as Rolf pulls his shoes on. He's not stupid. He knows exactly where Rolf is going, and exactly what he's going to do – but if he pretends not to know, Rolf might lie, and Nelson might be able to make himself believe him. 

“Out,” is Rolf's gruff response. He straightens up from the kitchen chair and makes his way down the apartment's small hallway to get his coat. Nelson trots after him, dressed for sleep. 

“Come to bed with me,” he says, not quite so brightly. “We both finally have the night off from patrol.” He makes the schedule himself, but that's not the point. Their relationship isn't really a secret anymore, but it isn't in his nature to make it obvious, either. With the way the schedule cycles, always rotating partners and days off, sometimes it's weeks at a time before he and Rolf get a night alone, where blows and bruises are exchanged only between themselves, and not with the denizens of the underworld.

Rolf doesn't say anything, and Nelson is getting frustrated. He knows that Rolf goes out to solicit young men, to hurt and degrade and fuck them for cash. It makes him sick to think about – both the fact that Hooded Justice secretly visits prostitutes, and the idea of Rolf touching anyone else. The larger man reaches the front door, and Nelson grabs him tightly by the arm. Rolf, predictably, turns to twist out of the grasp, and while Nelson has his attention, he falls to his knees in front of his lover.

“Please,” Nelson begs, placing his hands on Rolf's thighs. He widens his eyes as he looks upward, and softly gasps for breath as if in awe, just like he knows the powerful man loves. “Please,” he says again. “I need you.” He waits for Rolf to say something like _You get me when I say you do,_ and either walk out the door or drag him by his hair to the bedroom. 

Instead, Rolf speaks quietly but firmly. “Get up, Nelly. I'll see you at headquarters tomorrow.” And he turns, and is gone. The slam of the front door is like a punch to the gut.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It all started back in Nelson's military days. He had been so excited to join the Marine Corps, proud to be a part of something bigger than himself. As he took the train to North Carolina to begin training, he had butterflies the size of footballs in his stomach – what if he had an asthma attack in the middle of an exercise? Nelson had suffered enough embarrassment at the hands of his condition already, hadn't he? Even so, it hadn't beaten him yet.

Fortunately, the asthma wasn't nearly as bad as it had been in his childhood, and Nelson fairly flourished at basic training. He was well-liked amongst the other recruits, and a few of the officers that oversaw them occasionally commented that his positive attitude was something everyone ought to emulate. The praise sent a swell of pride though him every time, but he didn't need it to give him motivation. Truth be told, nothing was more motivating to him than the harsher officers, seasoned military men who told him he couldn't do another set of push-ups, that he was too weak to keep up with the rest. 

There was a sense of order in the military that Nelson found very comfortable. Everyone knew their place and their part to play in the larger scheme of things, and whether it was a matter of rank, race, or (as he soon discovered) role, he liked knowing exactly where he stood. If you were diligent, you could move up in the world, but until you did, those above you had to be obeyed lest the whole system crumble. So when Sergeant Hummel told Nelson to come to his private quarters that night, the young recruit had acquiesced unquestioningly.

Hummel was a big Germanic fellow (Nelson would later realize that he did, in fact, have a “type”) with a square jaw and flecks of grey in his close-cropped hair, and he had never spared the chance to tell Nelson that he was pathetic, scrawny, or any other adjective of choice. Nelson's heart beat like a drum in his chest, matching his rapid knock at the door.

“Enter,” a voice barked from inside.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, immediately standing ramrod straight and saluting. “Gardner reporting, sir,” he said, just as he had been taught.

“Shut the door.” Nelson did. The sergeant's quarters were sparse but tidy, furnished with a bed, a desk, a chest of drawers, and a sink. Hummel rose from his desk chair, tall and imposing. He was still wearing his uniform pants and boots, but only an undershirt covered his upper half; large muscles were clearly outlined under the thin, ribbed material. 

“I've gotta hand it to you, Gardner,” the sergeant said. “You've shaped up. Really pulled it together.”

Nelson was genuinely pleased to be hearing that from the man who had been the hardest on him here, but he kept his face serious. “Thank you, sir.”

Hummel stepped closer. Nelson was used to this kind of closeness, when superior officers would try to intimidate via proximity. It seemed to contradict the compliment he'd just received, but he didn't move back. Hummel took another step, and if Nelson still had long hair, the taller man's breath surely would have ruffled it. 

“Not bad for a little faggot.” Insults were not uncommon either, but there was something strange in the man's eyes and in the way his breath quickened.

“Sir?” Nelson asked cautiously.

“Don't speak out of turn, boy. I've got your number. I can tell a little slut like you from a mile away.”

Nelson couldn't smell any alcohol on the officer's breath, which frankly was more shocking to him than if he had. “Sir, I think there's been some kind of misunderstanding—”

“Bullshit. Look at you.” Hummel suddenly grabbed at Nelson's crotch, his large hand cupping around a growing erection. Nelson's stomach dropped out and his cheeks grew hot. What the hell was happening? “Don't act surprised, Gardner. I know your type. Weakling who thought he could man up in the Marines. Get 'em all the time. Well,” he glowered, seizing Nelson by the shoulders and pushing him onto the neatly made bed, “you're about to get some man up that tight ass of yours.”

Most of Nelson's brain – the sane part – was screaming with terror, and a tiny part of him was buzzing with excitement. Either way, when Hummel told him to take his pants off and lie on his stomach, he obeyed, because he knew he should.

There was a rustle of clothing being shed, a thunk of a belt buckle hitting the floor, and then the officer was bearing down on him. Nelson whimpered at the contact of flesh – oh God, he'd never even been with a woman before, let alone a man, let alone _this_ – then gasped as a blunt, wet finger pushed into him. 

“At ease, soldier,” Hummel said gruffly. “Relax.” Nelson did his best – and then there was another finger. They worked inside him for what seemed like an eternity, making him writhe around them. Then a third finger, and it _hurt_ , but for some reason he didn't care to fathom, he moaned and arched his back, pushing back against the dominating hand.

But Hummel wasn't pleased with Nelson, even if he was responding well. “Shut up. You don't want anyone to hear you, and find you like this, do you?”

“N-no sir,” Nelson got out through clenched teeth. He felt impossibly stretched but didn't want it to stop. This was good; this was how it was supposed to be. 

Hummel's erection pressed hot against his thigh. In the coming weeks, Nelson would beg aloud for it, but presently he could only anticipate, in breathless trepidation, the officer sheathed deep inside him.

The fingers were removed, the pain subsiding. The sergeant spat. Time seemed to be moving very, very slowly. 

“You want this, don't you?” It was spoken more like an accusation than a question.

“Ahh... yes!” And he did, very badly; he wanted so badly to please his superior officer. There was a sharp slap to his behind. He had messed up.

“Yes _what_?”

“Yes... sir,” he whispered, screwing his eyes shut in preparation for the punishment to come.

Something large and hot touched him, seeking entrance. “Don't you dare scream,” Hummel warned, and clamping his teeth down on the pillow was the only thing that kept Nelson from disappointing again.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It's a long stretch before Nelson and Rolf have another night off together, and that gives Nelson plenty of time to think about why their relationship is falling apart. He's sure part of it has to do with his long absence during the war; that was how it got started, at the very least. Three years was a very long time for someone to spend alone. He can hardly blame Rolf for seeking company in that time, and is even grateful that Rolf had sought anonymous sex rather than a new boyfriend. Nelson had had to fight off urges to stray himself, goodness knows there were enough ways to do that in the Marine Corps if you knew where to look. The thought of Rolf's anger at him being with another man had been enough to keep those urges in check, though, and so he satisfied himself with letters and one week of leave each year.

He's been back home for thirteen months now, and still Rolf steals out to buy brazen young sluts who don't know what they're getting into. It must be something else. He wishes there were someone he could talk to about all of this, but every name that pops into his head quickly gets crossed off. Hollis has never said anything outright, but Nelson knows he doesn't really feel comfortable about him and Rolf. Sally is a good friend of Nelson's, but her advice usually follows the tune of “leave him before he leaves you,” and Nelson doesn't want anyone to have to leave. Byron is a sympathetic soul, but Bill's death is still fresh in all of their minds and the poor bastard's been drinking even more lately. Any mention of relationship troubles was likely to send him right over the edge. He's reluctant to go to Larry, too – after the business with Silhouette, he doesn't want to draw any unneeded attention to himself.

What it simply boils down to, Nelson realizes, is that he can't satisfy Rolf anymore. Is it that he's getting older? Or is it that when they have sex, he can't help but get the feeling that Rolf wants even more – more than he's prepared to give to Nelson, or more than he thinks Nelson can take? Nelson has seen many times how Hooded Justice fights, always brutal, drawing pleasure from each blow dealt. Either Rolf doesn't want to push him that far, or he doesn't care to. Nelson desperately hopes it's the former, because in spite of the infidelity and brusqueness, he _knows_ that Rolf loves him.

Rolf doesn't say it very often, never has, but Nelson knows anyway. Several years ago, it had just been casual trysts between two sexual extremists who got lucky happening to find each other. Their encounters had been brief and fiery, all hands and mouths and cocks for a quick fuck over Nelson's desk, or the bench press, or in the showers after a spar. But now, there was an apartment and conversations over breakfast, gentle kisses on Nelson's shoulders between slaps and thrusts. There were inside jokes and stolen glances during meetings – a real relationship. If Rolf didn't love him, he wouldn't have stuck around for so long.

Nelson is thirty-four years old now, and the stability of a relationship is exactly what he wants. He's not young anymore, no longer looking for a fuck and a firm hand where he can get it. He has the best job in the world, and a man he'd love to grow old with. He's ready to _settle down_. 

So why isn't Rolf?

~*~*~*~*~*~

Nelson had discovered Rolf's awful secret four months ago. It was testament to how long he'd been away that he hadn't noticed anything for such a long time. He forgot how to read Rolf, how to know what he was thinking – he was just plain giddy to be back home, and too blind to see.

Nelson came home early from patrol one night – a beautiful spring night – after landing badly on his ankle while pursuing a group of thugs connected to a rising vice lord with a penchant for card tricks. Bill helped get him back to headquarters, where Nelson changed and called a cab to take him home. Even though his ankle ached badly, he knew Rolf had the night off, and was at least grateful they'd get some time together.

Instead, he came home to see his lover half-naked on the couch, fucking the mouth of a boy who couldn't have been past seventeen. He'd thrown the prostitute out of the house and thrown a mug at Rolf's head, shouted and slammed the bedroom door. Rolf didn't make any excuses or give any explanations. Soon after, they'd had something that might have been make-up sex, and it wasn't mentioned any further.

Now that Nelson knew what to look for, though, it was painfully obvious. Rolf headed out at all hours of the night, didn't want to touch Nelson all the time like he once had. Sometimes when Nelson noticed Rolf acting suspiciously, he reacted angrily. Sometimes he just turned ice cold, refusing to talk to Rolf for hours. And sometimes, as he had most recently, he pretended he didn't know what was going on just in case Rolf chose to keep him safe and ignorant with a lie.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The next night they have together, Nelson is ready.

Rolf likes to relax in the sitting room and listen to the news on the radio, and Nelson joins him when he can. They often talk about politics, current events, the state of the city. It's one of those comfortable habits they'd quickly settled into as a couple – sitting close on the sofa and analyzing their world. Now, as he leans against Rolf's warm body, Nelson is almost loath to disturb the simple domesticity of the evening. But like a polluted lake with a smooth surface, the peaceful night hides a darker issue underneath, and Nelson isn't going to let the opportunity go to waste.

The news is interrupted for a “brief message from our sponsors,” and Nelson chooses this as his moment. He loosens himself from under Rolf's arm and brings his leg around so he is sitting atop the larger man's lap. 

Rolf looks up at him in surprise. “And what do you think _you're_ doing?” he asks amusedly.

Nelson smiles boyishly. “Oh, I don't know.” He runs his hands down Rolf's chest. “I might be seducing you.”

“Oh _really_?

He bites his lip coyly, relishing how Rolf can't tear his eyes away. He leans forward and lets his lips graze his lover's ear. “Mm-hmm.” A shiver runs through the body beneath him, and Rolf seizes him by the hips, pulling him back, eyes shining darkly. Nelson purposely wriggles a little, and the hands grip tighter to hold him in place.

“And what's made you so bold all of a sudden? Can't resist me?” Rolf says, half joking and half encouraging.

“You know I can't.” Nelson is nervous – he hasn't had much practice at taking control, even verbally. All that he's generally required to do is moan in assent to anything Rolf wants to do to him. “You know I can't resist this” -- he slips his hands under Rolf's shirt and slides them up to his chest -- “Or these” -- he takes Rolf's hands in his own, briefly sucking on one finger -- “Or this.” His hand comes to rest on Rolf's groin.

Rolf gasps sharply, then grabs Nelson by the hips again, pulling him forward so their growing erections are pressed together. Nelson rubs himself eagerly against his lover – too eagerly. Rolf slaps his face hard enough that it stings for a few seconds, and Nelson whimpers in relief. He's back in safe territory now, put back in his place.

“Such a naughty boy tonight,” growls Rolf. “Makes me think you're looking for punishment. Maybe it would be a better punishment if I didn't touch you at all.” He draws his hands deliberately away from Nelson's body.

“No! I...” He searches for the right words for what he wants to say, reaches out and laces his fingers through Rolf's. “I need you to... just do whatever you want to me. Whatever it is you do to _them_. I can give you the same thing.”

Rolf's demeanor changes completely, but Nelson can't read the expression on his face. Surprise mingled with something else that could have been lust, or guilt, or anger, or... apprehension?

“Nelly...”

“I can take it,” Nelson says defiantly. “I want it. Anything from you, I want.”

“You're sure?” he hesitantly asks, briefly squeezing Nelson's hands.

“Absolutely sure. Please, Rolf,” he pleads. “I'll beg if you want me to.”

Rolf looks like he's going to keep arguing, and then his face shifts, relaxing and then re-hardening into the dark-eyed, lip-curled look that Nelson knows means wonderful things are about to start happening. “You certainly will,” Rolf says, and in one swift motion, grabs him around the waist and drags him down the hall to the bedroom. Nelson's heels leave lines like scars in the carpet.

~*~*~*~*~*~

When Rolf throws him to the hard floor of the bedroom, Nelson is positively exhilarated. _Finally,_ he's going to give Rolf anything and everything he wants, and bring him back for good. His knee hits the floor with a dull crack and he gasps, the adrenaline starting to course through him. It'll be the first of many bruises he earns tonight, he hopes. His breath quickens, warmth settling solidly in his groin. Rolf shuts the bedroom door and towers over him, all muscle and power.

“Get up,” Rolf commands. “Undress.” Nelson quickly scrambles to his feet and pulls off his shirt, pants and underwear. He nearly trips over himself trying to remove his socks while standing up. Rolf doesn't crack a smile.

“Let's have a look at you, see if you're worth the trouble.” Rolf walks around him with a critical eye. Nelson is not a small man, standing five feet ten and in top shape – but before Rolf like this, he feels tiny.

“What's this?” Rolf asks, prodding at a bruise on Nelson's chest. Nelson is careful not to wince at the assault on the damaged area. Rolf will only think him weak, want to stop, go get what he wants from someone else. He won't let that happen. “And these? Been whoring around, have you? Letting other men put their hands on you?”

Nelson shakes his head fiercely. “No! Never!” Sometimes Rolf sees the bruises he's sustained after a heavy patrol and tell Nelson he doesn't like to see marks on him that he didn't put there himself. It's Rolf's way of telling him to be careful. Now it's a game, a wonderful game.

“Liar.” Rolf grabs him by the upper arm, where the flesh is blossoming in purples and greens. “I'll bet you begged for it.” He continues his inspection, and when his fingernails rake across Nelson's thigh, Nelson's heart starts pounding. He knows what Rolf has found.

“How do you explain this one?” Rolf stares down at him sternly. There a small bruise right where Nelson's left leg meets his body. He'd sustained it while raiding one of Moloch's vice dens; one of his guards had kicked him, hard, with a stiletto boot. She'd missed her actual target, fortunately, but the mark left by her heel looked awfully suspicious...

“Were you so fucking desperate that you found someone to suck you off?” Rolf is almost yelling. Nelson is certain the neighbors will hear, but it would be stupid to tell Rolf to keep it down. “Look, you're hard just thinking about it. Slut!” It's true, in part; Nelson's erection is rising from tight blond curls next to the offending mark. “Tell me who. Where did this come from?”

“At Moloch's...” Nelson says, unable to offer a better answer. Any more or less would either be a lie, or would spoil the game.

Rolf laughs in triumph and disdain. “ _Moloch_? Well, next time you see your friend Moloch, you can tell him you've got all you need right here. Isn't that right?”

“Yes, sir.” He's starting to tremble, he just wants so badly for Rolf to touch him again.

“Now,” Rolf says, sending shivers down Nelson's spine, “I'm going to make sure you remember who it is that's allowed to bruise you up like that.” Nelson cries out in real pain when Rolf's fist connects with his jaw, sending his head snapping to the side and making his vision swim.

“Come on, fight me,” the larger man growls, the bulge in his pants very apparent. Nelson steadies himself, gulping in deep breaths of air – keep breathing, that's the important thing to remember, nothing is less sexy than an asthma attack, right? His head clears as he assumes a fighting stance. He knows this game too; often a spar at headquarters turns into something else, and the familiarity allows him to push the strange feeling he has to the back of his mind.

Rolf takes another swing and Nelson ducks, but Rolf is anticipating this – they know each other's fighting styles too well – and comes from the other side to connect with Nelson's upper arm, right where it is already bruised. Nelson hisses and feints, moving quickly enough to bring his elbow sharply into Rolf's solar plexus. Rolf snarls at having been hit, and although it's a stupid thing to do in a fight, Nelson screws his eyes shut as if not being able to see the coming blow will make it hurt less. 

It doesn't work. The back of Rolf's hand connects solidly with his face, and Rolf's other fist sinks into his stomach. Nelson staggers back in shock at the sheer brutality of what his lover is doing to him, with nothing so much as a kiss or a gentle pet to counteract the blow. The nagging thought tries to resurface, but he's too busy trying to keep breathing through sputters and coughs to pay it much attention. He wipes his mouth with his hand, and the hand comes away streaked with blood. 

Rolf toes at him like a cruel master over a whimpering dog. “I think you'll be remembering for a very long time, won't you?” Nelson can't respond, only coughs some more, and that seems to be good enough for Rolf. “Go get my bag.”

It's a tote bag that he gestures at, that contains one of his Hooded Justice costumes. Nelson hesitates for a moment – just a moment to collect himself – before he moves to stand up. 

“Stay down,” Rolf growls. Nelly waits until his back is to Rolf to grit his teeth in frustration – but he stays down, and crawls across the wood floor to retrieve the bag, trying not to put too much weight on his bruised knee. He's painfully aware of how ridiculous he looks, bare ass up in the air, erection bobbing between his legs and his stomach. He feels even more ridiculous trying to crawl back while dragging the bag (it's not too big, but it's heavier than it looks) along with him. But this is what Rolf wants, and it's not so bad, really. It's not more than he can handle.

Rolf's unforgiving eyes are on him, taking in every awkward, jerky motion until he drops the bag at the man's feet and settles back on his heels. “Good,” says Rolf, and it was all worth it. 

Rolf's pelvis is close to Nelson's eye level, and Nelson can hardly believe his lover can still stand to be dressed in his obvious state of arousal. He'd gladly take Rolf in his mouth right now, and so he runs his hands up Rolf's thighs – too high. Rolf smacks his hands away, mutters absently that Nelson will get what he sees fit to give him, and crouches down to rummage in the bag. He comes out with several coils of rope, and Nelson moves to get up onto the bed, looking over his shoulder questioningly.

“No. Down there.” Rolf points to the floor right in front of the bed's railed footboard. Whatever Rolf wants with him over there isn't for Nelson to ask, so he simply obeys.

Rolf grabs his left wrist and ties one of his ropes around it, then connects the other end of the rope to the far left side of the footboard. He does the same thing to Nelson's other wrist, tying it to the right end of the bed, then steps back to admire his work. The bed is much wider than Nelson's armspan, and while kneeling upright it is only slightly uncomfortable, Nelson can see how it could quickly get much worse.

Rolf looks satisfied, and Nelson watches, in fascination despite his current position, as Rolf undresses. The shirt goes first, revealing the bulging muscles of his chest and arms. Rolf carefully folds the shirt and places it up on the bed, going slowly just to torment him, Nelson is sure. It's working. He hadn't realized until now how dry his lips were, and he moistens them hungrily as Rolf steps out of his pants. He folds these too, then slips his underwear off to reveal the erection that has been straining to be set loose all this time. Although Nelson can tell that Rolf is more than ready to take him right here and now, he knows that he won't. Not yet, not while Rolf has him here, vulnerable, like a cat toying with its prey.

The larger man comes down to join him on the floor, takes his hips in his hands, and moves Nelson where he wants. “Back here. I want your filthy ass up where I can see it.” The way he positions him, it's like Nelson's crawling again, except without his hands for support. Blood rushes to his head, suspended not quite low enough to touch the floor, and the ropes bite tightly into his wrists. Rolf slaps his behind with a loud crack, and the shudder of pleasure that goes through him is almost enough to take away his discomfort. 

He moans softly and Rolf does it again, searing his still-tingling flesh with fresh heat. This is familiar, this is good – he strains against the ropes, jutting his hips back in the hope that Rolf won't stop. For several long seconds Rolf does nothing. The soft, desperate sounds that escape Nelson's throat turn into a sharp cry as an insufficiently moistened finger pushes into him without warning. Rolf bears over him, grabs Nelson's shoulder with his free hand – Nelson's bound wrists scream in protest at the added weight – and bites down hard. Another finger, another bite; this time, teeth sink into the flesh and muscle, and Nelson bites down hard on his lip to keep the pain inside. 

A hot dribble of blood traces down his shoulder, mingling with the beads of sweat before a single drop splashes to the floor. He won't think about that. He _won't_. And really, the pain is already fading, he'll just bandage it up later. No harm done. This is Rolf, who speaks fondly about his childhood in Kiel, and laughed when Nelson bought him a purple dress shirt and a golden-brown tie for Christmas. He wears them, too. This is Rolf. It's okay. 

The hand moves away from Nelson's shoulder, exploring the other side of his body. Fingernails rake across Nelson's chest, sharply pinch at a nipple. The fingers of Rolf's other hand twist inside of him, making him squirm and squeeze around them. The hands, the fingers, the blood rushing into his head and rushing out of his raised arms – it's almost more than he can handle, and it's not that he doesn't want it, but he is pathetically grateful when Rolf moves away. Rolf will get the bottle from the night-table drawer, and it'll be over soon. Easy.

But Rolf doesn't go to the bedside table; instead he goes back to the bag that sat forgotten until now. Nelson twists his head, but he can't see what Rolf has gotten. “Eyes ahead, bitch,” Rolf spits out the last word like punctuation to his point. 

Nelson does as he's told. There's no reason to back out now, even though his knees and shoulders ache terribly. His whole body feels strained and tired – he's no longer rock-hard like he usually is with Rolf, when he really wants it. Not that he doesn't want this, of course. But even though he might not be as enthusiastic as usual, Rolf doesn't seem to have noticed.

Rolf is up on his knees behind him now, and as he leans over to slip something around Nelson's neck, his cock presses hot between Nelson's buttocks. Nelson wants to feel it inside him, moans his desires.

“I told you you'd beg,” Rolf murmurs, but Nelson is soon interrupted by Hooded Justice's noose tightening around his neck, brushing his Adam's apple a little too hard. His breath catches in his throat and he remembers the mantra from before – keep breathing, just keep breathing. 

Rolf takes Nelson around the hip with one hand while the other holds the end of the noose – like a leash, Nelson thinks, and he feels a little sick. They've used the noose in sex before, but it's never made him feel degraded – oh, he can't think about that right now, not with the way Rolf is teasing his entrance with his cock. Nelson whines with desperation for the man's touch and for the eventual absence of touch, and in a single moment that makes his eyes fly open and a scream rip from his throat, Rolf is inside him, buried completely and lubricated only with saliva, if anything. 

“If you're going to scream like that, then you'd better have a gag,” Rolf castigates, pulling the noose from Nelson's neck to between his teeth. He gives it a good tug, and Nelson's head snaps back, pulling on the ropes on his wrists as well.

Oh god, he can't even feel his hands anymore.

Behind him, Rolf is making sounds, inhuman sounds, guttural sounds halfway between German and inane groans of lust. His rhythm is irregular, and Nelson hurts all over, feels faint and broken, and the nagging voice in his head finally wins. This isn't right, this is bad, this isn't right at all. He tries to make words through the thick rope in his mouth, but his pleas for Rolf to stop just come out as muffled, meaningless noises. He struggles against the ropes, and Rolf doesn't stop for a second.

It's now that he realizes that this isn't Rolf, who likes to sit on the sofa and listen to the radio. This isn't even the Rolf who thinks that the Nazis had the right idea. And it's not Hooded Justice, either, who uses brutal violence to good ends. This is a stranger, this is someone he's never met, someone he's never shared a conversation with, much less a bed. 

Nelson squeezes his eyes shut and waits for it to be over. This is awful, but he's not going to cry, he's _not_ , he's Captain-fucking-Metropolis and he doesn't cry. Except now he's not Captain Metropolis, he's not Lieutenant Gardner or Nelson or Nelly or _anyone_. It doesn't matter who he is, the man pounding into him doesn't care if it's him or some whore off the street as long as he has someone to _use_ , and this is what sets the tears loose. 

The man behind him finishes with a rough moan, pulls away, and Nelson sags in relief. He made it – he's sweaty, bloody, and raw, but still alive. Still breathing. He can't stop the tears, though, can't even wipe them away, can't stop his exhausted body from shaking. The noose is loosened and removed; a sob finally escapes him, tearing through the silence of the bedroom like a knife through paper. 

“Nelson?” a voice says. It's a voice he thinks he knows. “Nelly?”

The ropes around his wrists are hastily removed. Nelson tries to support himself with his hands, but they are numb and useless, and he collapses on the floor in defeat.

Rolf's face appears over him. He looks away. “Nelson... I...” Rolf trails off. Nelson doesn't want to hear excuses. There's no excuse for treating him like this. Rolf reaches down to wipe the tears from Nelson's cheek.

“Don't.” Nelson turns his face away, curls closer in on himself. His hands are all pins and needles. There are bright red rope burns around his wrists that he doesn't dare to touch.

Rolf pauses like he's at a loss for what to do; Nelson just wants him to go away, just go do whatever he does when he's done with any other guy. He can leave him here on the floor to cry like a child, for all Nelson cares. 

“Come here,” says Rolf, more like it's for himself than like the instructions from before. Hands are on Nelson's body again, and he winces as if they've struck him, even though Rolf is being as gentle as he can. Rolf gathers him up and places him on the soft bed, the cool comforter welcoming him.

“I'll be right back,” Rolf promises. “Okay?” Nelson nods shakily through sniffles, trying to rub the tears out of his eyes. He's never cried in front of Rolf before – not when Bill was shot, not when Ursula was murdered, not when he first caught Rolf with a boy or when they argued about Nelson going to war. He'd always either pushed the lump in his throat away through sheer force of will, or found a moment to be by himself before squaring his shoulders and doing what had to be done. He doesn't like Rolf seeing him this way. He'd _tried_ to be strong, he'd tried so goddamn _hard_...

This was a long time coming.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Scheiße,” Rolf mutters, splashing cold water on his face. He hadn't meant to go so far or ignore what should have been obvious signs that his partner wasn't okay. Nelly had wanted it, hadn't he? He'd said so... but really, Rolf should have known better. He should have known that it was a desperate act on Nelson's part, but the desire to have Nelson completely, without holding back, had just been too tempting. He'd gotten carried away, and now, God knows what Nelson thinks of him. 

He shuts off the tap and dries his face, then quickly gathers the things he'll need. A damp washcloth, gauze, peroxide, aloe ointment. He's going to patch Nelly up and hope he hasn't done anything that can't be healed.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The weight on the mattress as Rolf joins him on the bed is not a welcome feeling, Nelson thinks. On the other hand, he reasons, it might actually be worse if he wasn't there, if he simply hadn't come “right back”. He can't decide right now.

A warm hand brushes the hair back from his face, something soft blots the tears from his cheeks. “Here,” Rolf says. Nelson opens his eyes to see a concerned expression upon the bearded face. Rolf is offering him his handkerchief. He takes it and blows his nose ashamedly.

“Let's get you cleaned up.” Nelson lets Rolf rub soothing ointment on his wrists and wrap them up in gauze. He feels like a man he once saw in the hospital when he was visiting his sick mother. The man was terminally ill, and had tried to avoid the suffering of his illness by opening his veins. The doctors had caught him at it and bandaged him up just like this. Nelson almost smiles sardonically – letting Rolf do whatever he wanted tonight was pretty damn close to suicide. 

Rolf's touch is very, very gentle as he dabs peroxide over the imprints of his own teeth in Nelson's shoulder. Nelson notices this, even as he hisses at the sting of the chemical in the little wounds. Rolf bandages this area as well, and when he is finished, his hands move in slow circles around Nelson's back and shoulders. Nelson is almost able to relax, almost isn't afraid of what Rolf might do behind him. Almost. Exhaustion is keeping his anger down, but it's still there. 

Rolf presses a kiss between his shoulder blades, and strokes his hair. “I'm sorry, Nelly.”

“You should be,” Nelson retorts, half into the pillow. 

He hears Rolf sigh. “When you said you wanted it, I tried—”

Nelson jerks around, flipping onto his back and scrambling to sit up and face the other man. “Don't you _dare_ make it out like it's my fault, Rolf. It's not my fault you sleep around! God, is– is this what you do to them? Fuck them raw and then patch them up and send them on their way?”

“I don't play nurse to prostitutes,” Rolf says quietly. 

“You shouldn't have to play nurse to anyone! You're a— you're a barbarian! God!” Nelson points at his sore jaw, which he's willing to bet is already bruising. “You hit me, Rolf, you just fucking _hit_ me. Not to get me going, just because you could! What the hell is wrong with you?” He's gesturing wildly, hardly thinking about what he's going to say next – just letting it all out. “You bit right through my skin like some kind of animal, my own _blood_ is still on my floor.” He holds his bandaged wrists up like weapons. “Didn't you expect _this_ to happen? Who in their right mind thinks that's a good idea? You strung me up like one of your circus freak friends. Jesus, maybe that's where all this comes from,” he spits out, hoping to hit home, but Rolf refuses to rise to the bait. 

He's losing steam from the lack of provocation. “It's like you can't tell the difference between sex and what we do on patrol. I mean, I've seen you after fights. I knew that already,” he says, anger turning back into misery. “I just didn't know you wanted to _really_ hurt _me_.” He searches Rolf's face for answers, sees it soften. Now Rolf looks like the one who feels old and tired.

“Why do you think I found other men for this?” Rolf's voice is weary and honest, each sentence a confession. “I didn't want to upset you. I didn't want you to know. I didn't want it to come to something like this.” Now that Nelson is calming down from his tirade, he can see that Rolf appears almost as miserable as he feels himself. “The things I've wanted to do, for so long... you have no idea.”

“You could have told me,” Nelson insists. “You didn't have to sneak around, we could have worked something out.” Rolf somehow doesn't look convinced. Nelson rubs his aching neck and says, in a very small voice, “We can still work this out, can't we?”

Rolf looks up quickly. “Of course we can,” he murmurs. Nelson lets Rolf move close to him, wrap his arms around him. He can't help but admire the muscles in Rolf's arms or shiver at the tickle of the beard brushing his shoulder. 

“I love you, Nelly,” Rolf says. “That hasn't changed. It's not going to change.”

Nelson presses closer to him, inhales the scent of sweat and tobacco, and breathes out in a sigh. “I was scared it had.” But he believes what Rolf says. This isn't a game, this is real. “I love you too.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

The pain saturating Nelson's body makes it hard for him to find a comfortable position for sleep – on one side his jaw hurts too much to press against the pillow, on the other it's his arm. His shoulders and wrists still burn, and his backside isn't exactly in great shape either. Rolf is wonderfully patient as Nelson tosses and turns, trying to find a position that doesn't make his body complain. 

When he finally does, Rolf wraps a protective arm around him. Nelson is wholly exhausted and it isn't long before he dozes off. He's not afraid to let sleep take him, even with the man who hurt him holding him possessively. Rolf's solid warmth against him is soothing, familiar. This is Rolf. This is good.


End file.
